Flick of the Wrist
by Flightless Wings
Summary: "Wilma" seduces Snow White in the woods. Rewritten. Rated M.


**Summary: Regina seduces Snow White in her Wilma disguise.**

**Rated: M**

**Disclaimer: Characters belong to Adam and Eddy.**

**AN: Hope you enjoy. Reviews are appreciated, of course :)**

* * *

She's a very mild woman- at least I think she would be if she were awake. Attractive as they come and certainly out of place in such an angry forest. I suppose there was a time when I, too, was a stark contrast to the growth that tickles up the pine bark and demands an intolerance to all the things I used to be.

Those days are long gone.

Now, adorned in the furs of the animals I had murdered without a second thought, I watch the way the woman's chin trembles in her sleep. There's a certain fear in the way she shakes- the signs of a woman with a tortured past succumbing to the nightmares of an illness-induced sleep. Her injury is quite fatal.

It's automatic now- reaching up to swipe the cold sweat from the side of her face. I've been by her side for two days, wrapping and unwrapping her bandages, staying on my guard for the distant thud of palace horse hooves, and wiping the thin beads of sweat over and over so I can feel a little better about myself. I'd carried her unconscious body from the market to this secluded little hut with dark knights hot on my tail. They don't know the forest like I do. Even with the weight of another person, outmaneuvering the bastards was a simple task.

Still, the worry of being caught has me anxious for the stranger to awaken. Being on the run has taught me many things- the most important to never hole yourself up in one place for too long of a time. It's hard to leave the woman's side, even to go hunting, for fear she will open her eyes and find herself alone.

Alone. With only the company of the forest, solitude is becoming familiar to me now. I don't know how I expected to live before Regina had sent the huntsman after my heart. To live in the palace with her forever? To mourn father and mother over fancy dinners and waltz down the castle corridors in fluffy pink ball gowns? The most wretched knowledge is that the reason for Regina's unhappiness is because of the secret I couldn't keep. Wry humor and petty thefts from royal carriages are how I get by these days. The best I can offer is hope that someday Regina will be a kind and benevolent ruler. Maybe someday her eyes will shine like the ones that haunt me in my sleep- the ones that had made me feel so safe after she'd pulled me from the runaway horse and saved my life. The ones that had made me feel like I wasn't alone.

* * *

She's still far too weak to move. I can sense her discomfort- the way she writhes and wipes at her skin like she can will the dirt and grime away from her body. One would think a miller's daughter would be used to the harsh treatment of survival in the meanest of conditions. I don't dwell on it for too long- I know little of her past and assumptions are for the judgmental.

She'd come to consciousness early yesterday morning. Idle conversation passes time and she watches my every move like a hawk. Even when I'd returned that first morning with two clean-shot rabbits, she'd claimed she wasn't hungry and that she couldn't possibly keep down such tough meat. It quickly returns to how it was before- me wiping perspiration like a well-oiled machine and her drifting in and out of sleep as the fever drips out of her system. After countless trips of lugging buckets of fresh water back and forth from the nearby stream, she lets me help her sit up and take a sip before speaking again.

"Where are you getting that water from?" she asks, watching me with narrowed eyes. She has a suspicious curiosity for everything I do and the question doesn't faze me. I offer her another drink.

"There is a stream nearby. I can show you the way if you'd like to wash."

Her eyes widen as I finally acknowledge her blatant discomfort and she nods, brushing a strand of wavy hair from her face self-consciously. I watch with disapproval as she attempts to haul herself to her feet with shaky, still-weak legs. Sighing, I crouch and slip one arm around her shoulders and the other under the dip of the back of her knees, lifting her and myself from the ground in one swift movement. Her arm snakes around my neck for support as I duck and exit the hut, throwing a glance over my shoulder at my bow lying sadly in the corner and deciding the trip should be quick enough that it won't be necessary.

* * *

_-Regina-_

"I can walk," I insist as we leave the little hut. She looks down with a raised eyebrow and an amused smirk that makes my teeth snap together. I turn away, hating the proximity. My arm is draped over her neck- close enough that I could wrap my fingers around the column of pale skin and choke the living breath out of her body. All it would take is a single flick of the wrist.

She's speaking now. Something about the various healing herbs that she points out as we pass through the forest brush towards the sound of the rushing water. These clothes are itchy and tattered and I miss the simple luxuries of the palace that I've become so accustomed to. I hate how easily she carries me- how I feel her strong arms flex underneath me, built by months of running and stealing. I could end it all right now. I could kill her. All it would take is a single flick of the wrist…

My vision is a blurry haze of the vengeance I so desire. The bubble of the stream rings loud in my ears like this blood pumping and pounding inside of my head. No matter the vicious thoughts that overwhelm my every sense, my fingers refuse to find their rightful place over her neck. There is no tender snapping and there is no scream of dying breath. It must be the fever.

She says she hopes someday I will come back. What a foolish girl- I am right in front of her nose and she's too stupid to realize it. I hate her innocence and I hate how naive she is.

Most of all, I hate that I have to hate at all.

She sets me down gently on a sturdy rock parallel to the river. I can feel the jagged edges through these peasant rags scratching at my skin. My body is not my own. Ever since my marriage to _him_ it never has been and it never will be.

She turns away, startled as I begin to peel the disguise from my tired limbs. I catch her eye before she can avert her gaze and I see everything- the embarrassment of seeing another's nakedness, the uncomfort as she tries so desperately to remain the respectful and modest princess she's always been. A smirk dances at my lips.

I can ruin Snow White- just like her father ruined me.

I quickly dispose of the remainder of my clothing, the sharp air biting at my newly exposed skin. While she sees the body of Wilma, it is still very much my own. Seduction is not an uncommon practice to me. I bend over to lay the rags in a pile by the riverbed before limping exaggeratedly towards the water. Snow is standing off to the side, looking up at the sky and feigning an absence I know is long lost.

As I hobble closer to the shore, I force myself forwards in a fake trip, yelping as the pebbles press into my skin and turning on my side as Snow comes rushing forward to my aide.

"Wilma!" She kneels down beside me and puts a shaking hand on my shoulder, still trying her damned hardest to keep her eyes on my face. "Careful! You're still very sick. Here…" She hesitates, sucking in a breath before offering a hand and lifting me to my feet again. She moves her arm around my bare waist- her rough hide gloves irritating my skin- and helps me walk to the water. She's so quick in everything she does- so efficient. Her gaze is still directed to the side, refusing to wander back towards my vulnerability.

The pure are the easiest to break.

I've lived in the same castle as the girl for so many years. I've seen the things she does when she doesn't think anybody is watching- touching herself and writhing under her insecure fingers through my magic mirror. I know all of her secrets and all of the ways I can hurt her and break her and crush her just like she deserves.

I know that just the sight of another woman has her soaked.

"Thank you," I hum, low and throaty. She swallows hard and nods in acknowledgment, unsure if she should help me into the water or run back to her little hut to get herself off like I know she would do. She's a filthy little bandit. "Could you help me?" I ask innocently, dipping my toes into the coursing water and pulling back with a shiver as the ice shocks my skin. She moves tentatively, planting a boot in the rushing stream and looking back for me to follow. Pink paints her cheeks and throat as her resolve cracks and her gaze flits to my chest as she tries so very hard to be subtle. I arch my back a little to give her a better view.

"Like what you see?"

The purr rolls off my tongue, such an overused line but so worth it for the way her mouth falls open and the pink intensifies to a deep red.

"I don't know what you mean," she answers quickly, voice weak and cracking. Her chest rises and falls in short, shallow breaths. "I should probably go hunting." The excuse rides out in a jumbled rush. She reaches back unconsciously to run her thumb nervously along the handle of her bow that isn't there.

"Hunting for what, Snow?" It's almost too easy. "Warm, dripping, _tight_ rabbit meat?"

She lets out a strained noise- something between a whimper and a moan that catches me off guard. Under her cute little tough exterior, we both know just how much of wanton slut she really is. Always so starved for the attention I never gave her. Daddy's little girl desperate to be loved and touched and_ fucked_. A wicked laugh is held back as I realize that killing her would be much too easy. Why would I grant her such a mercy when I could steal everything she has, everything valuable, and then kill her? She could suffer like I did. I can have everything.

An impulsive step forward. I reach up and tug at the top of her tunic, pretending to admire the furs and the crude stitching. "My, my…" I continue, dragging my fingers back up to her neck, watching the skin burn pink under my touch. I stop at her chin and tilt her face up to look me in the eyes instead of staring unabashedly at my breasts. "I think I could help you with that, Princess." I linger on the title, feeling it over my tongue and watching it get to her head. It's almost disgusting how simple this is. She opens her mouth to talk, head spinning as she tries to form words with me standing naked in front of her.

Her eyes darken and flash with conflict and I reward her with a smug smile, leaning forward after a long moment to speak hot against her ear. "I want to _fuck_ you."

She sucks in a nasty breath as the profanity runs down her spine and straight to her lower stomach. In a fierce, snapping moment, she reaches up and grabs a fistful of my hair, pulling and yanking me into a sloppy collision of teeth. I can't help the chuckle as she opens her mouth a little wider, begging me to make her feel like her own fingers never could. She tastes of the forest and of plump, ripe berries ready to be picked. I feel myself being pushed down- maybe from the fever or maybe from her nails digging into my shoulder- until my back is being prodded with stream rocks and she's on top of me with her overdressed limbs tangled in my own. She doesn't break the kiss for a single moment, searing and crazed for touches she's been waiting her whole life for.

It's pathetic how easy she cracked. I pull back.

"Off now!" I order, pulling at her cowhide pants and her stupid fur tunic. Her hands move quickly to rid herself of the constricting little bandit outfit until she's just as exposed as I. A sudden wave of self-consciousness and vulnerability flashes across her face that makes me feel something I should never feel for Snow White. Sympathy.

**I hate her.**

Quickly, I grab her by the waist and slam her back against the ground, forcing the expression off of her innocent features and leaning down to bite at the skin below her ear. I slip my leg around her torso, effectively pinning her in a straddle. She arches her back and lets her head roll into the sand. "Is this your first time, Princess?" I hiss against the shell of her ear, unable to keep the mocking poison from my tone. "Giving yourself to a perfect stranger. What would your-" I quickly close my mouth, reminding myself that she doesn't know who I really am. The thought only serves to intensify this anger I feel welling up in my throat. I silence any retorts with another kiss- biting down hard on her bottom lip until I taste iron and lust. I keep her quiet while my hands slide down her virgin body, stopping at the peak of her barely-developed breast and twisting her nipple with my thumb and forefinger until she cries out into the kiss in what I can only imagine is the pain I want her to feel. She presses up against me in a desperate buck of her hips as I continue my path down to her hipbone.

"Would you tell me to stop if the dark knights found us right now?" I demand against her lips, more for my own amusement than to spite her. She clenches her eyes shut and whimpers, shaking her head softly as my fingers find her center.

She's soaked.

I run my fingers through her dripping folds, pulling back to watch the way her face contorts in the same way I had seen it tense in the mirror when she fucked herself back at the palace. Her thighs move to close and force the foreign touch away but I force them apart even farther, continuing my slow and torturous strokes.

Her skin is white as snow. I find the small bundle of nerves I am looking for, pinching her clit roughly and soothing it with slow, relentless circles that coax animalistic whimpers from the back of her throat.

"Wilma…" She chokes out, overwhelmed by how quickly I had claimed her. She's already so close to the edge and I've barely even touched her. The alias sends a sharp jolt of anger coursing through my veins. It is me who is ruining her. It is me who she is bucking against in a desperate attempt for more contact. It is me who shoves two fingers inside of her tight, wet hole and steals her purity. She's loud and she's desperate as I pump in and out, twisting my wrist so my thumb hits her clit with every thrust and curl of my fingers against her clenching inner walls. It's my name she should be screaming as she climaxes for the first time under someone else's fingers besides her own.

_And all it took was a single flick of the wrist._


End file.
